


Parched

by Pandir



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Coercion, Homophobic Language, M/M, Power Dynamics, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: His dreams are filled with heat, searing like the scorching desert sun. Lalo's lying on his back, unmoving, as his blood is slowly seeping into the warm sand. Under the unrelenting sun, his lips are caked with blood and dirt, his mouth is dry as dust and his throat so parched it burns.Lalo Salamanca's coming of age.
Relationships: Lalo Salamanca / Original Male Characters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Parched

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hiding In Plain Sight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229952) by [Rrismo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrismo/pseuds/Rrismo). 



> Having your sexual (gay) awakening in an environment as violent as the Salamanca's business is bound to make things a little twisted.
> 
> This is heavily inspired by Rrismo's amazing fanfic, and I apologize for warping the events shamelessly for my own needs.

Lalo is ten when he first finds himself staring at another man's lips. There is nothing special about him, a plain heavy built guy, one of the poor foolish bastards that dare to cross Hector Salamanca. When Hector's enforcers pull the beaten, shaking man up from the ground, holding him up by his arms, he spits blood in the dirt before Hector's feet. But Lalo is mesmerized by his lips, red with blood, soft and glistening. As the man draws a trembling breath, the thick liquid drips from his mouth, slowly and gently. Lalo forgets what happens after that, these things tend to blur together after a while, but he remembers the vibrantly red lips.

It is still the same summer when his uncle shows him what happens to sodomites who are a disgrace to the family name, some place way out in the desert, his hand on Lalo’s sweating neck to hold him in place. Back then, Lalo doesn’t understand why his uncle has him witness the execution, but he knows better than to question uncle Hector’s lessons. 

-

Lalo turns 14 before he first jerks off to completion, huddled beneath his blanket in the dark of his room, his eyes pressed shut. He comes at the thought of kissing blood-red lips, and of the same wet lips wrapped around his cock. It’s getting hot under the blanket, and even though Lalo kicks it off before he drifts off to sleep, his dreams are filled with heat, searing like the scorching desert sun. Lalo's lying on his back, unmoving, as his blood is slowly seeping into the warm sand. Under the unrelenting sun, his lips are caked with blood and dirt, his mouth is dry as dust and his throat so parched it burns. 

-

It's over a year later, early in spring, when he catches one of their guards, Lorenzo, fucking another man behind the shed in the garden of the Salamanca estate. 

Lalo likes to think of himself as perceptive, someone who can usually sense when people are up to something. But it's pure dumb luck that has him sneak through the same part of the garden that night, a bottle of mezcal in one hand that he's sure his father won't miss. After all, he’s got a whole cabinet full of strong liquor.

On his way to the porch, a rustle in the hedges makes Lalo stop in his tracks. In the quiet, still night air, he holds his breath and listens, only to hear something that turns his apprehension into curiosity - a soft, low noise. Now intrigued, Lalo creeps closer, to eavesdrop. And if he’s good enough at hiding, he thinks, he might catch a glimpse of their faces on their way back in.

Lalo has never come as fast as he does when he touches himself in bed that night, the low groans still in his ear as he bites his lips to keep his own voice down until his teeth draw blood.

The dark wooden ceiling looms over him as he lies on his back afterwards, his chest heaving, and the high drains out of him like blood seeping into desert sand. It leaves him numb, except for a now very defined craving. Lalo licks his dry lips. 

For the first time, Lalo thinks he might know how to satisfy it.

The next evening, Lorenzo finds himself in Eduardo Salamanca's room. The bottle stands by the bedside, considerably emptier than the night before, and Lalo is sitting on the bed before him, the first two buttons of his shirt open and a smile plastered on his face. A moment of quiet passes in which the man stares at him, remarkably unfazed by the unusual situation. Still, Lalo’s smile does not waver. He’s glad he’s made sure he’s drunk enough to pull through with this.

“Lorenzo, my friend, if you want to have a good time in our gardens, you should be a bit smarter about it”, he says amicably. “And you should keep your little boyfriend quieter." 

The man shifts in his stance, but he keeps his features under control, hands still folded behind his back. Dutifully, Lalo notes, but not for him. Lalo is just his boss’ oldest nephew, and that only means that Lorenzo won’t shoot him dead as soon as he thinks Lalo is going to rat on him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Eduardo."   


"I should probably tell tío”, Lalo muses, idly playing with his leather wristband. “You know what he does to animals like you?" There’s no smile tugging at his lips as he looks up at the man before him and leans back on one arm, lifting the other to hold his index and middle finger to his temple. Lalo cocks his head and Lorenzo holds his gaze, visibly tense, but remains quiet. 

After a moment of consideration, Lalo aims his fingers at him instead. "Bang", the boy says softly, mimicking the recoil. And for a split second, he sees it clearly, the man’s scarred face distorting, his mouth opening wide in shock, and his blood and brain matter splattered on the door behind him.

It’s only then that Lalo realizes that he shouldn’t have downed so much mezcal at once. The room shifts, and he feels the slightest bit sick.

"Is that all?”, Lorenzo finally speaks up. “I'm needed outside."

That Lalo can’t accept, but it’s probably not the smile he wills back on his face that makes Lorenzo stay. It must be something in his gaze as he keeps his eyes locked with Lorenzo's, something that makes Lorenzo's tough facade waver. The man shifts his stance from leg to the other, but - Lalo notes with a great deal of satisfaction - he doesn't leave.

"But, to be honest with you, I’d rather not tell tío any of that", Lalo confesses as he sits up and motions Lorenzo to come closer. Finally, the man obeys, stopping right before the bed frame, between Lalo's legs. His heart is beating high in his throat as Lalo reaches out to slowly drag his hand up the man’s thigh. For some reason, his mouth feels dry, and he swallows thickly. No chickening out, Lalo tells himself. This is a lucky opportunity, and he’d be a fool to waste it. 

Besides, as his hand palms against the man’s crotch, Lalo finds that there’s not much room for apprehension in his mind. 

“Let's make a deal.” His eyes flick up to the man before him and Lalo shoots him a grin, not even trying to hide the anticipation that pools low in his stomach as his fingers trace the seams of the man's black jeans. “I promise you I won’t breathe a word.” There's a slightly slurred lilt in his voice as he adds, "That is, if you fuck me."

His first time is not all Lalo expects it to be. The man he has chosen for it needs to be coaxed and commanded, which leaves little room for foreplay. As soon as he has wriggled his hips out of his jeans, Lalo finds himself on his back with Lorenzo above him, two wet fingers already spreading him, slowly and mechanically. But Lalo hardly minds - it’s definitely more exciting than doing it himself, and the alcohol takes the edge off in a way that is almost pleasant. 

Looming above him, Lorenzo hesitates, apparently still all too aware that the lanky boy beneath him is a Salamanca, with all that entails. "Ready?", he asks brusquely.

"Yes", Lalo blurts out, his face hot against the pillow, and it may be a lie, who knows, who cares. The mezcal is buzzing warm in his veins and his head is still reeling from the feeling of calloused hands holding onto his hips and the man's body so close and hot against his sweaty skin.

"You also take that long to fuck your boyfriend?", Lalo teases, breathlessly, and finally, he hits a nerve.

With his face shoved into his mattress, Lalo can breath through the overwhelming feeling of intrusion, of being too full,  _ too much, too fast, _ without having to worry about the tears pricking at his eyes. It's not glorious bliss, it's disappointingly uncomfortable, but the cock thrusting deep inside of him keeps pushing into the right spot a few times and Lalo comes undone quickly, just before his legs give in. 

The world is spinning as he lies on his stomach, catching his breath after the man pulls out - too quickly, as if he can't wait to escape -, and listens to Lorenzo grunt softly as he comes into his own hand, spilling a few warm drops on Lalo's back. That is the part Lalo remembers fondly later.

The man leaves as soon as he's dismissed. Lalo passes out right where he lies, only to wake not much later with a sore back, a bad taste in his mouth and only a hazy memory of most of what transpired. As he squints into the early morning sun, his head throbbing and his mouth dry, the pillow sticks a little to his cheek, still wet with saliva.

-

Lalo is 18 when he's first tasked with supervising operations on his own. He waits, smoking a cigarette in the shade of the small, secluded house, while his men are searching inside. Only his handpicked right-hand man, Tino, remains with him. 

As most of their men, he’s older than Lalo, a good way in his thirties, but more importantly, he’s loyal and reliable. That’s why he’s been chosen, of course, and maybe that’s also what makes him Lalo's current favorite. What Lalo likes about him most, however, is his good sense of when to keep his mouth shut - that, and the way his stubble brings out his jawline and his pants cling to his thighs. 

Tino leans against the white plastered wall of the building, checking on his gun, as he likes to do when he’s bored. Lalo has his own way to pass the time.

With a last drag from his cigarette, Lalo pushes away from the wall and flicks the stub in the dirt. "Now, how long do you think this is gonna take?”

Tino shrugs, he’s busying himself with cleaning grime out of the engravings of the shiny barrel of his precious gun. "Not much longer."

"Maybe five minutes?", Lalo suggests and steps closer to him. They’re almost eye-to-eye - Lalo has shot up in the last years, and now he's all gangly limbs and no fat on his bones.

While Tino contemplates his answer, a muffled cry can be heard from inside the house, followed by the crashing of furniture and a dull thud.

"Let's say ten", Lalo decides, and falls on his knees right in the sandy dirt before Tino’s feet. Before the man can holster his gun, Lalo's mouth is on his crotch, teeth dragging teasingly over the fabric. There's a slight hitch in the man's breath, and his hand brushes over Lalo's hair to rest on the back of his head, the weight of its grip carefully measured to be encouraging, not restricting. As Lalo backs away to open the pants with quick fingers, the muffled noises inside have subsided to broken whimpers under the rhythm of hard, relentless blows. Lalo thinks of blood-red lips, split and dripping, and wets his own. 

"I don't like to rush it."

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out, it's hard to delve into something as fucked up as a Salamanca's childhood, but I had these mental images stuck in my head and they really wanted to get out. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear ppl's thoughts! 💜


End file.
